Jules Leyser's one-women (sic) show All Words For Sex won her
plaudits and awards last summer in Edinburgh, and now arrives in London
at the Soho Theatre. It's one of those solo shows which, although terribly
impressive, are diminished because it's so obvious that they're intended
primarily to impress rather than to engage in any deeper way. Leyser writes
excellently and performs almost as well, but her material plays second
fiddle to the need to showcase her skills.

This is probably cruel and a matter of my perception quite as much as
Leyser's presentation (although it doesn't help that the show is apparently
produced by her agents). Leyser's script is intelligent, showing snapshots
of four successive women in session with an unseen psychiatrist. Imogen
is a chippy media shaker who casually beds her employees then gets rid
of them to forestall possible rejection; Marion a middle-aged wife who
immerses herself in good works to offset the hollowness at the core of
her marriage due to her disgust at even the mention of matters sexual;
Paula a brash 21-year-old ambivalent about her former abuse by her father
and frank in her use of sex as a means of exchange; Beth a rape victim
whose spirit has been frozen by her ordeal. Leyser's costume changes are
covered by Tom Holland's film sequences showing each woman's journey to
the Harley Street consulting room, which efficiently and economically sketch
out the character before we hear her say a word.

Leyser writes fluently and for the most part subtly (I particularly
liked the various discreet hints of "transference" from the first three
women). She is also an able performer, but Philip Goodhew's direction fails
to curb a tendency in her to self-conscious ironisation, a range of expressions
which amount to making "air quotes" with her eyes, so to speak. It is natural
that arrogant Imogen should over-emphasise phrases and gestures – should,
in effect, perform – but much less so in the case of prim Marion, and even
at times in the deadened Beth. It is also mildly disheartening that Paula
is made a Scouser (the subtext being "look, I can do regional"); and however
powerful and sensitive the climactic account by Beth of her violation may
be, it suffers from its utter predictability as being precisely the conclusion
the play requires. Leyser achieves a great deal in the course of these
80 minutes, but the purpose of the play is subordinate to her abilities
rather than vice versa.